


Detention - Commission

by TheBetterQuibbler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Smut, Student Sherlock, Teacher John, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBetterQuibbler/pseuds/TheBetterQuibbler
Summary: Detention has never been so much fun.





	

“Trying to make yourself look good for Professor Watson?”

 

Sherlock jumped and spun around, swiping at his ear where Irene Adler’s hot breath had tickled the skin. She was smirking at him, arms crossed and one perfectly plucked eyebrow cocked. Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked away from the bathroom mirror, which he’d been fixing his curls in, trying to make them lay in a somewhat orderly manner. Irene jogged after him as he shoved the bathroom door open and walked out into the corridor beyond.

 

“Why are you in the boy’s lavatory?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Why are you fixing your hair for your detention with Professor Watson?”

 

“I wasn’t fixing it _for_ detention. I was just… fixing it.”

 

“Right. And I was just in the boy’s loo because I like the ambiance of the urinals.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Leave me alone.”

 

“Come on, just admit it. You’re hot for teacher.”

 

They had reached Professor Watson’s classroom door, and Sherlock glared at her.

 

“Shut up. He might hear you.”

 

“Alright, fine. But you’ve got to tell me everything when you get back to the common room.” Irene wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. She had always been like this, even back when they were first years. While it had taken Sherlock a little longer than average—and a hot ex-Auror turned Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—to understand the concept of sexuality, Irene had been an early bloomer. Even then, they had somehow been drawn together from the start. Best friends since day one—not that Irene had given Sherlock much say in the matter.

 

“You’ll be rather bored, I’m sure,” Sherlock retorted, and Irene gave a snort.

 

“Not likely. I’ve seen the way the professor looks at you. You may be hot for teacher, but teacher is even hotter for you.”

 

Sherlock blushed and turned to hide his face from Irene. He hated when she was able to get to him like this. He’d successfully convinced everyone else in the school that he was an unfeeling machine—a ‘high-functioning sociopath,’ he would say—but Irene hadn’t been so easily tricked, and she loved getting a rise out of him in whatever way she could.

 

“I’ll see you after,” Sherlock muttered, entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and closing the door on Irene’s smirk.

 

Professor Watson was standing at the front of the classroom, writing something on the blackboard. He didn’t seem to notice Sherlock enter, which gave Sherlock plenty of time to admire the round, perfect shape of the professor’s buttocks. Sherlock imagined himself walking up to the professor and squeezing those cheeks. And then the professor would spin around and grab Sherlock, pulling him down into a hot, bruising kiss that would…

 

“Oh, Mr. Holmes. I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

Sherlock was startled from his daydream, and felt heat rising up his neck and to his cheeks. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. No need to be sorry.” The professor gave him a kind smile, the one that always made Sherlock melt. The man was head of Gryffindor house, which was known to be Slytherin’s fiercest competition when it came to the house cup. And yet he was always so nice to Sherlock, even today, when Sherlock was meant to be being punished.

 

“What do you need me to do?” Sherlock asked, deciding that he had been staring at Professor Watson’s smile for far longer than was socially acceptable.

 

The professor’s smile turned down into a teasing frown. “Oh, yes, right. I’m supposed to be punishing you, aren’t I?”

 

Professor Watson’s joking made Sherlock relax a bit, and he replied, “Yes, well, that does tend to be the purpose of a detention.”

 

The smile returned, and Sherlock’s knees felt weak. “In that case, can you transfer these notes over to the blackboard while I work on tomorrow’s lesson plan?” The man held up a piece of parchment, and Sherlock stepped forward and grabbed it, his long, slender fingers barely brushing against the professor’s stouter ones. A jolt ran up Sherlock’s arm at the contact.

 

Without a word, Sherlock made his way to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. He looked over what the professor had already written and then got to work copying down the rest. He was about halfway done when he felt a presence behind him, far closer than would normally be considered polite.

 

“You have beautiful handwriting. Makes mine look a bit rubbish, doesn’t it?” the professor joked.

 

“I like your handwriting,” Sherlock said honestly. “It suits you.”

 

The professor walked around to stand beside the blackboard, so that he could look Sherlock in the face as he asked, “What’s your story?”

 

Sherlock stopped writing mid-letter. “Sorry?”

 

Professor Watson winced. “Sorry, maybe that’s a bit too forward. I just meant… I’ve only been here for a year or so. The rest of the teachers… Well, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but they don’t fancy you all that much. When I asked them about you, I think the words they used were ‘arrogant,’ ‘rude,’ and ‘freak.’ But I’ve seen you in class. You’re a near genius. Yet, somehow, that never comes up when people talk about you. Why is that?”

 

Sherlock shrugged and continued his copying. “Plenty of people have said those things to my face. You’re right—well, almost. I _am_ a genius. And people are simple. But people don’t like being shown how simple they are. So they hate me.”

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

 

“Do what?” Sherlock looked over the blackboard, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

 

“Pretend that it doesn’t bother you, what they say.”

 

“It doesn’t bother me.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Why should it?”

 

Professor Watson considered this. “I know that, if people said those things about me— _to me_ —I would feel a bit hurt.”

 

“Well, I’m not like you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I’m a high-functioning sociopath.”

 

“Yes, I’ve heard that you say that, too. But I don’t think you are.”

 

Sherlock stopped his copying and looked to the professor, whose eyes were studying him from head to foot. It felt like his gaze was searing Sherlock’s flesh, and a pleasurable shiver ran up Sherlock’s spine.

 

“Then what do you think I am?”

 

Professor Watson cocked his head to the side, and his brilliant blue eyes met Sherlock’s. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are.” Then he gave a small smile and said, “Posh, genius boy with gorgeous eyes and amazing cheekbones, I suppose.”

 

Sherlock’s heart leapt to his throat, and though his mind fumbled about for something to say in response to this, nothing came out. This had to be the first and only time that Sherlock Holmes had been made speechless.

 

Professor Watson licked his lips, slowly, and then asked, “Do you have a girlfriend, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock was finally able to find his voice, and he whispered. “Girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

 

“Boyfriend?”

 

“No.”

 

The professor licked his lips again and nodded. “Good. Good. But, you know, it’s all fine.”

 

“I know it is.” Sherlock didn’t dare to believe that this was happening. He knew that his eyes must be bugging out of his head in disbelief, and he hoped that he didn’t look too much like a deer in the headlights.

 

“I don’t mean to be inappropriate…” the professor said, but his eyes were already undressing Sherlock, and Sherlock _loved_ it. “But for the past year now I’ve seen you once a week every week, and it’s starting to get very hard to… Well, I suppose I’d like to know if I’m wrong in thinking that you feel the same?”

 

“No, I… I do. Feel the same.”

 

“Good. So,” the professor straightened up, almost like a soldier, and cocked his eyebrow, “you’ll have no issue with me taking you right here on these desks?” Sherlock suddenly noticed how tight his trousers had become around his groin.

 

If Sherlock had known some spell to magic both of their clothes off, he would have cast it here and now. Instead, he just nodded his consent, and that was apparently all that the professor needed. The man stepped forward and used one hand to pull Sherlock into the bruising kiss of his fantasies while the other hand slid down, deftly unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers, and slid into Sherlock’s pants to grasp at his cock. Sherlock moaned into the professor’s mouth, and the professor smiled.

 

“You like that?” the professor asked, his lips lightly brushing against Sherlock’s.

 

“Yes,” Sherlock whimpered.

 

“Yes, what?”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile at this. “Yes, sir.”

 

The hand Professor Watson had used to pull Sherlock into a kiss now pushed Sherlock’s trousers and pants down to his ankles while the other hand continued to pump at Sherlock’s penis. Meanwhile, Sherlock’s fingers twisted in the professor’s short, blond hair and their tongues danced together, pushing into each other’s mouths.

 

Suddenly, the professor pulled away, and Sherlock’s eyes flew open in shock. For a second, he feared that the professor had changed his mind, but the man had simply reached over to grab a chair.

 

“Sit,” he commanded, and Sherlock did as he was told. The professor pulled his trousers and pants from around his ankles, and then held up the pink boxer briefs with a small smile. “Cute.”

 

Sherlock blushed but didn’t bother to retort. Not that he could have even if he wanted to. All he could focus on right now was the throbbing of his penis, which the professor had once again grabbed ahold of as he kneeled between Sherlock’s thighs. The professor then licked his lips, smirked, and bent over, taking Sherlock’s cock into his mouth in one go. Sherlock gasped and grabbed at the chair beneath him, his head lolling back, biting his lower lip painfully to keep from crying out like a girl in a porno. He could only imagine what would happen if someone heard him moaning and gasping the way he wanted to right now.

 

Each lick, suck, and kiss was making Sherlock come undone rather quickly. He had one hand wrapped in the professor’s hair now and the other yanking at his own in pure ecstasy. His breathing was heavy and hitched every once in a while when a particularly well placed lick sent jolts of electricity through his groin and up his torso.

 

“P… Professor, I…” Sherlock breathed. He was about to cum, he knew it, and apparently so did Professor Watson, who pulled away with a shake of his head.

 

“Not yet, you don’t.”

 

John stood, and gestured for Sherlock to stand as well. Sherlock was a little confused, but he was eager to please the man, so he got to his feet quickly, erect dick swaying back and forth. He was already missing the wetness and warmth of the professor’s mouth. Without a word, the professor placed his hand on Sherlock’s upper back and pushed him forward and down, so that he was bending over one of the desks, arse sticking out. He knew immediately what was going to happen, and any of the erectness that his cock may have lost when being subjected to the chill air of the classroom had once again returned.

 

The thing was, Sherlock had never had anal sex before. Well, he’d never had oral sex before, either. Or any sex, unless you considered sex with one’s own hand to be sex. But anal sex was way different from all of those other kinds of sex. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it—because, _oh_ , did he want it—but he was afraid that his inexperience would be too obvious.

 

There was a bit of a rustling sound, and then the professor’s now exposed cock was pressed up against Sherlock’s backside, its impressive length and girth obvious. The man bent over and whispered in Sherlock’s ear, “Is this okay?” to which Sherlock replied with an enthusiastic nod. The professor then kissed the tender spot of skin behind Sherlock’s ear, trailing the kisses to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and then down his spine a little ways. Sherlock could have come from this alone, but he forced himself to hold it together for at least a few minutes longer.

 

Behind him, Sherlock heard the professor mutter something that sounded like a spell, and then, without warning, one of the man’s fingers slid into his asshole, slicked up with some sort of lubricant. He gasped loudly as the man expertly found and stroked his prostate. Sherlock found himself white-knuckling the edges of the desk, his cheek flat against the cool wooden surface, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure and the slightest bit of pain.

 

Then a second finger slid in, and the pleasure and pain grew. Once again, he bit his lip to keep from crying out, breathing in and out heavily through his nose.

 

“Alright?” Professor Watson asked, and Sherlock gasped, “Yes.”

 

A third finger now, scissoring him wider, preparing his hole for entry… Although, based on what Sherlock had felt pressed against him earlier, nothing would be able to prepare him for what was coming.

 

Once the professor was satisfied that Sherlock would be able to take him without much issue, his three fingers slid out of Sherlock’s arse and his dick was lined up with the hole. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, holding it and trying his best to keep himself as loose and relaxed as possible…

 

And then the professor was slowly sliding into him, and though there was the burning sensation of being stretched a little too wide, there was also the pleasurable sensation of being filled to the brim with Professor John H. Watson, the man he’d fantasized about day and night for over a year now. This was a dream come true. No, it was better than a dream come true. None of Sherlock’s fantasies had done the professor justice.

 

“Ohhhhh… Professor,” Sherlock groaned, and one of the professor’s hands slid up his back. The professor started slow, with just the tip working its way in and out gently, but he slowly picked up his pace and worked more and more of his cock into Sherlock until he was fully inserted and was bucking against Sherlock roughly. Every thrust that the professor made sent Sherlock’s pelvis knocking into the edge of the desk, but he didn’t mind. All he cared about was that he was being fucked by the hottest man alive.

 

It was becoming harder and harder for Sherlock to keep his impending orgasm at bay, which he tried to relay to the professor, but all he could get out between thrusts and gasps was, “Prof… I’m… Oh… GOD…”

 

And then he came, a flash of white blinding him while his cum squirted from him, splattering on the stone floor. It was, by far, the strongest and best orgasm he’d ever had in his life, and as he came he found himself repeating, over and over like a prayer, “Professor… Professor… Professor…”

 

He felt like his knees were about to give out from under him, and Professor Watson seemed to sense this, too, because he pulled his still-erect cock from Sherlock’s ass and helped him to the floor, where Sherlock sat, breath shaky and legs like noodles. He felt a little guilty that the professor hadn’t been able to finish before he’d practically collapsed, but the professor didn’t seem deterred. Instead, he grabbed himself and began pumping at his own erection, never breaking eye contact with Sherlock. In about a minute, the professor looked to be on the edge, and he pushed Sherlock back so that he was laying on the floor. Then, the professor shoved Sherlock’s shirt up and came all over his stomach, the warm, sticky cum dribbling into his belly button.

 

“Professor,” Sherlock whispered one more time, eyes closed. He felt the man shift above him, and then their lips were pressed together in one more bruising kiss, ensuring that Sherlock’s lips would be puffy and swollen tomorrow. If he’d had any hope of keeping all of this a secret from Irene, it was gone now.

 

The bruising kiss gave way to light, sweet pecks, which gave way to the two of them on the ground, Sherlock on his back and the professor hovering over him, with their foreheads pressed together and neither moving. They stayed like this for a while, but then, finally, the professor sighed and stood up, shattering the serenity. Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up, watching as the professor pulled on his pants and trousers. Then, the man grabbed his wand and said, “Accio rag,” which summoned a cloth of some kind from the professor’s office. He then cast the aguamenti spell on it and tossed the now damp rag to Sherlock, who used it to wipe the professor’s cum from his stomach.

 

As Sherlock moved to get dressed, the bliss started to wear off, and he started to wonder what this had all meant. Had it been a one-time thing? The professor’s way of getting the temptation out of his system? The thought of that made Sherlock’s heart sink a little. He wanted more than a fling. He wanted Professor Watson to be _his_. Or to be Professor Watson’s.

 

Once he was dressed and the professor had cleaned the puddle of cum from the floor, Sherlock stood awkwardly by the blackboard, not sure what to do now. The Professor looked a little amiss, as well, which only solidified Sherlock’s fears.

 

The professor cleared his throat. “Ahm. Well, then. That was… That was good.”

 

This was a far cry from the man who had been pulling rank just a few minutes before. He was back to being the startlingly attractive but somewhat awkward Professor Watson, the man that everyone else thought him to be but that Sherlock now knew was a façade.

 

“Very,” Sherlock replied, trying to get his own façade back in place. God. So much for the ‘high-functioning sociopath.’ Sociopaths didn’t sigh and whimper like he had.

 

“I, uh…” The man licked his lips nervously and cast his eyes to the blackboard, as if he was afraid to look at Sherlock now. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in doing that again, would you?”

 

For the second time in his life, Sherlock was made speechless.

 

His silence apparently seemed to frighten the professor, who quickly said, “Or, well, of course, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel that I’m pressuring you into anything.”

 

“I’d like to,” Sherlock said quickly. “Very much so.”

 

The professor stared at Sherlock for a moment, and then smiled. “Good. Very good.”

 

Sherlock nodded his agreement. “Yes. Very good.”

 

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I’m afraid that it appears we didn’t really do this detention thing right.” The professor slowly walked over to stand in front of Sherlock, grinning at him. “I suppose we’ll have to try again next Saturday.”

 

“I understand, Professor,” Sherlock said, playing along.

 

“Of course, you should probably make sure that all of your Saturdays until the Christmas Holidays are cleared, just in case.”

 

“I don’t plan to go home for the holidays, so I’ll make sure those Saturdays are cleared as well… Unless you plan to go home?”

 

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly content to stay right here.” The professor slid one hand onto the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down for one final, sweet kiss. When they broke apart, he said, “I’ll see you in class, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock’s heart fluttered, and he nodded before slowly backing away and hurrying toward the door. He vaguely wondered what he would tell Irene. Would he share everything with her? He knew that she would want him to, but the thought didn’t really appeal to him. However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from her. She liked to say that people had a “glow” after they’d had sex, and doubtlessly she’d see this “glow” on him from a mile away. After everything that had happened today, he suspected that he looked a bit like a supernova. So, he decided to give her the bare minimum, and keep all of the specifics to himself.

 

As he was about to exit the room, hand hovering right above the doorknob, the professor shouted after him, “Oh, Sherlock!”

 

Sherlock turned. “Yes?”

 

“I don’t reckon I need to tell you this, but make sure you don’t tell anyone what’s happened here today. I don’t think the school would be particularly keen to keep me on if they knew I was shagging one of the students.” The man winked and Sherlock chuckled.

 

“Yes, I understand.”

 

“Right. Good.” The professor nodded curtly, gave Sherlock a small smile, and then turned to the blackboard, where he began to finish up the notes he’d been having Sherlock copy. Sherlock turned and left the room, casting one final glance over his shoulder at the professor before stepping out into the corridor, which now felt like a whole new world.

 

Well, it seemed that Sherlock wouldn’t be sharing anything with Irene after all.

 

Professor’s orders.

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this commission! If you would like me to do a commission for you, please visit readwritelovefiction.com/commissions/.


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